


Phoenix

by stjarna



Series: Season 6 spec fics [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Feels, canon-compliant MCD mentioned, season 6 spec fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: A S6 spec one-shot. Jemma approaches Fitz with a request/suggestion.





	Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to @dilkirani and @lilsciencequeen for the beta/pre-read.

Jemma stopped in the doorway to the lab, wrapping her fingers more tightly around the wooden box she carried pressed close to her body. Her heart drummed against her rib cage as if it were trying to force her forward to where Fitz sat hunched over at his workstation, concentrated on a project.

The anxious feeling seemed so familiar, longing to be close to him, needing him, and yet petrified of his reaction and petrified to let go of something that had become a treasure. Back then it had been her phone, battered and broken, containing six months’ worth of memories and secrets Fitz had missed.

This time it was different, it was more. This time she carried a lifetime in her hands.

Jemma exhaled sharply, feeling her fingers tighten even further against the smooth surface of the box.

She cleared her throat. “Hey,” she said quietly.

Fitz looked up, turning his head to the door. A subtle smile ghosted across his lips. “Hey.”

Reflexively, Jemma mirrored his smile, though hers was mixed with nervousness. “Is this a bad time?”

He glanced at his project, before looking back at her, shaking his head. “No. Just finishing up.” He pushed himself up to standing, tugging his trousers up and lifting his chin in Jemma’s direction. “Do you need my help with something?”

Jemma pressed her lips into a thin line, her gaze wandering to the box cradled in her hands. She swallowed, trying to counteract the increasing tightness in her throat, before forcing a smile. “In a sense, yes,” she admitted, noticing the tremor in her voice.

Fitz furrowed his brow, taking a step closer and pointing at the object Jemma was carrying. “What's that?”

Jemma couldn't stop her chin from quivering, her eyes from welling up. She shut them briefly, feeling the cold trail of a single tear snaking down her cheek. She looked back at Fitz, whose expression was full of concern.

“It's your ashes,” she managed to say before her voice broke.

Fitz froze in his movements and Jemma noticed his muscles tighten, his hands forming fists, before he tucked them away in the pockets of his trousers. His gaze wandered to the ground, before glancing back up but barely daring to look in Jemma’s direction.

He exhaled a shaky breath before clearing his throat. “I didn’t know—,” he muttered, still avoiding Jemma’s eyes. “Didn’t know that you—um—”

“Yes, um—” Jemma nodded, pressing Fitz’s urn closer against her body, forcing a timid smile. “I—uh—well, we—we never talked about it—our preferences.” A sad chuckle escaped her lips. “I mean, when would we have even? Aside from our plans to move off base, we never really had time to talk about our future—let alone provisions for—I mean, even when we got married, there was never—and why should we have? I mean, we’re young. It's not really something you think about, or want to think about—not even in our line of work and—”

She paused, trying to calm her increasingly rapid breathing and her rambling mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling another tear trail down her cheek.

“I couldn't bury you,” she admitted quietly, trying to keep her chin from trembling as she forced herself to look back at Fitz. She shook her head. “I couldn't let go.” She exhaled sharply, her eyes wandering to the wooden box in her hands, before finding Fitz’s eyes again, which stared back at her shimmering behind an unshed curtain of tears. “I needed you. I was looking for you. I _knew_ I would find you, but—but I needed you to—to already be there with me and this—” She shrugged, lifting the urn a little higher. “—This was a way to hold on to you.”

Fitz stood quietly, his hands still tucked into his pockets, looking straight at the box in her hand and yet through it at the same time.

Jemma searched his eyes, trying to read his silent expression.

He began to nod ever so slightly. “Yeah,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “Yeah, no, I—” He cleared his throat nervously, tapping the floor with the tip of his shoe. “I—uh, I always thought that—” He paused, scoffing quietly. “Well, you know me and decaying bodies. Bloody disgusting. Always thought cremation was—” He looked up, shrugging slightly. “—Cleaner.”

A weak smile flashed across Jemma’s face.

Fitz’s gaze wandered up, his expression soft and honest. “You made the right choice. It’s what he would have chosen.” He stopped, somberness darkening his irises. “What _I_ would choose.”

The corners of Jemma’s lips quirked up in a strange mix of sadness over their serious topic and yet happiness over his openness. “Me too,” she admitted quietly.

He bobbed his head in acknowledgment, before lifting his chin in the direction of his urn. “Why are you showing it to me now?”

Jemma felt a jolt rush through her heart, beating frantically at his sudden inquiry. “Because—” She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “Because I think it’s time for both of us to let go of him.”

Fitz wrinkled his forehead, looking back at her in silence.

“I mean, not forget him.” Jemma shook her head vigorously, blinking away tears. “I think we both know we will never be able to—or should, or would want to, but—but we both seem to hold on to him so tightly that it’s preventing us from moving forward. And I want to move forward so badly—with you! I want to plan our future and start our future, and he deserves better than to become what’s holding back what he would have wanted, too—at least I think he wanted—”

“He wanted,” Fitz interjected without hesitation.

Jemma couldn’t help but smile widely, taking a hopeful step towards him. “So, I thought we could let go of him, set him free.”

“Scatter my ashes to the wind?” Fitz asked, his expression unreadable.

Jemma shrugged. “Maybe it’s nothing more than a symbolic gesture but—but I thought we could find a nice place and—”

She paused, furrowing her brow, letting her words run through her mind again and wondering whether they sounded completely ridiculous.

“Scotland,” Fitz remarked quietly, causing Jemma to look up. “Always thought that’s where I’d want to—” He swallowed, visibly struggling to finish the thought.

Jemma glanced at the urn in her hands, a shy smile spreading across her face before she looked back at Fitz. She lifted her shoulder slightly. “Maybe we could find a place in Glasgow. Sneak into the closed-down zoo. You always said you loved—”

“Perthshire,” Fitz interrupted her, one corner of his mouth pulled up microscopically. “Ever since I heard you say that you imagined settling down there with me, it’s been the place I imagined would be our home.”

Jemma felt her chin quiver, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry.

“We should take him there,” Fitz said calmly.

A sob escaped Jemma’s throat as a single tear snaked down her cheek. She nodded, pressing the wooden box closer against her body. “Yes—yes, he’ll get a head-start and then—then we’ll join him one day.”

Fitz chuckled, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief and yet a thin shimmer of tears as well. “Preferably alive.”

Jemma laughed out loud, before drawing in a shaky breath. “Most definitely.”

Fitz’s eyes fixed on her, his expression soft and loving. He sighed quietly, before taking a step forward, raising one hand to gesture at the urn. “May I?” he asked barely above a whisper.

Somehow his question surprised her and warmed her heart at the same time. Ever since they’d found him, ever since he’d learned the truth, she’d felt like Fitz had been scared of this other self, mad at him, and yet maybe also jealous. His request to see his own urn, hold it even, seemed like a step towards the part of himself he’d never known and yet lost.

“Of course,” Jemma replied just as quietly, slowly extending the urn in his direction.

He took the wooden box from her, staring at the cover, before opening it carefully. His eyes seemed to glaze over as he looked at his own remains, exhaling a quiet shaky breath.

“What do you feel?” Jemma asked, unable to hide the worry in her voice.

He scoffed barely audibly, one side of his mouth twitching briefly. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more mortal and alive at the same time.”

He met her eyes and somehow Jemma couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him so at peace.

She chuckled quietly. “You’re a phoenix,” she declared, gazing at him wide-eyed.

He let out an amused snort and closed the urn, before sighing deeply. “We are,” he replied with conviction. “Because no matter what the universe has thrown at us, we’ve always come out the other end.”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile. She placed one of her hands underneath the wooden box and the other on the lid, while her tear-rimmed eyes were fixed on Fitz. “Then let’s do it again, Fitz. Let’s set him free. Let him rest. And we can rise from his ashes, more vibrant and alive than ever before.”

Fitz nodded. “I want that,” he whispered, before adding even more quietly. “He’d want that, too.”

Jemma’s mouth pulled wide, before she leaned forward, and their lips met in a tender kiss, while their hands together cradled a lifetime that belonged to both of them.


End file.
